


143 - I Want You

by yeoltidecarol



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Masturbation, Mentions of Breathplay, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 16:29:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16857442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeoltidecarol/pseuds/yeoltidecarol
Summary: On a day off, you spend all day craving your boyfriend. In the middle of one of his meetings, you decide to let him know.





	143 - I Want You

The thing is, it starts with a text.

 **YN[4:03 PM]:** I want you.

The thing is, you had him this morning, deep, slow, and intense until you both were shaking from the pleasure.

Before the alarm went off, you could feel him. His body pressed against yours, with one strong arm wrapped loosely around your waist. Always, he was like this, possessive and protective even in his sleep. Always, he was like this, making you feel wanted right from the start. You pressed your back into him, nestling against the warmth of his chest and luxuriating in the feeling of his heartbeat touching your spine.

Before the alarm went off, you could hear him. Half awake but not yet stirring, his breath changing from the even rhythm of sleep to the restless pattern of remembrance. Remembering the day, remembering the time, remembering to shower. Small things, easy things to handle, but difficult in the first few seconds of morning. Enough to remind a person they have to work. Enough to remind a person they have to leave. You pressed your back into him, hips rubbing against his own and luxuriating in the sound of his laugh as it traveled down your neck.

Before the alarm went off, you could feel that he wanted you. Slowly, his content chuckle morphed into a groan of placid desire, the arm around your waist pushing you closer, closer still until not even air could be trapped between your bodies. His mouth, warm and wet and still full of tired words, latched onto the crook of your neck and shoulder, sucking and licking until you writhed against him in pleasure. Biting your lip, you reached behind your back, fingers searching aimlessly for his hip and squeezing at the skin as you choked back a moan.

Teasingly, his hand snaked beneath your shirt, his shirt, the oversized Ramones tee from college, gliding a flat palm up the skin of your hip, your waist, your ribs, until he reached your breast. There he massaged the mound of flesh with skilled fingers, sending wetness to pool between your thighs. And you, pulse increasing to send your blood racing and your skin flushing at the sensation of his touch, the touch that says he knows your body as if it were an extension of his own, clenched your toes and rubbed against the hardness of his cock, enticing it with pressure from the cheeks of your ass.

The thing is, you both had your fill of each other in the warm morning sunlight. The thing is, you did begin your day, you just started it with him inside you.

The thing is, it’s four in the afternoon, and you want him again.

All day, you’ve been carrying the feeling of him inside you in your body and your bones, making you stop your actions and close your eyes at the memory. Doing the dishes, you would grip the edges of the counter as you pictured his hands spreading your legs wide, wide enough to press a knee between them to press against your core, before spanking you. Before claiming you. Showering became a kaleidoscope of images, your back against the wall and legs wrapped around his waist as he thrust into you, again and again and again, until you both were too weak to separate. Like this, with the false, temporary darkness surrounding you, you can almost bring him back to life. Make the memory into a tangible, real thing that slides along your skin not as a phantom but as a living result of your desire.

All day, you’ve been feeling him, wearing that same Ramones tee and pretending the hem was his fingers at your thighs, that the cloth sliding along your shoulder was his lips. For hours, you’ve been wet, careful in the way you walk and the way you sit, licking your lips and letting the throbbing ache in your center build until it became impossible to focus on anything else.

Now, you can’t see beyond your desire as you lay back against the pillows of your shared bed, running your hands over the sheets as though you could feel him, could feel the permanent stain you both made of your sweat, your come, your love in the mattress.

Now, you’re just waiting for his reply.

Cruel of him, you think, to get you and keep you aroused without his hands on you. Cruel of him, you think, to get you flushed, and desperate, and wanting without being here to truly see it. This is his pleasure, yours really but made and created by him, and you think he deserves to see it. That he should see how he’s turned you into something needy, something wholly unlike yourself, making your skin into a livewire, constantly sparking with the memory of his touch.

If you think on it, you think the best part of this morning was dressing him. Sweat still slick on your brow and inner thighs, body still smelling of him, you buttoned his shirt and he leaned forward, trying to share your breath and trying to take your mouth in just one more heated kiss. His pupils were dilated, yours probably were too, and this only made it harder to resist him, seeing his eyes blown in ardor. Tying his tie was a hassle, his hands gripping the cheeks of your ass and pressing you to him, his tongue at the lobe of your ear and the tendon of your neck while your fingers, weak and begging to clutch and fist in the soft fabric, made one smooth windsor knot that took too much of your focus.

He wanted you then, all over again and always, wanted to pull you back to the bed and cage you beneath him. He wanted you spread out and panting, coming hard and loud against him, until even the neighbors knew that he made you feel good. He always made you feel good, and you wanted that again too.

You wanted it then, and you want it now.

Against your thigh, close to where you want him most, your phone buzzes and you release a satisfied sight.

 **Yeol[4:10 PM]:** baby i’m in a meeting

You can almost see him, crossing his legs in the boardroom and trying not to give in, the slim cut of his trousers suddenly feeling too tight around his thighs. He’d be running his tongue along his teeth, likely threading a hand through his hair as he releases a slow exhale. Always, it’s been easy to instigate him, his desire for you perpetually existing at a peak and never truly quieting.

In truth, both of you are like this, never fully empty of lust for one another and always seeking small fragments of one another’s skin in crowded rooms: his fingers entwined with yours, the smooth cream of your wrist in his hand, his tongue on your neck at dinner, hidden beneath a kiss. When you are alone and when you are separated, either by work or errands or individual interests, you become starved, greedy creatures, finding each other eagerly after hours deprived of one another’s touch.

Spreading your legs slightly on the bed and placing your fingers just below the band of your underwear, you raise your phone above your body and bite your lip as you take the picture. He’s been teasing you all day, existing within and against you without being on you, and you think he deserves to suffer the same.

 **YN sent a Photo  
YN[4:11 PM]:** i’m soaking through my underwear for you

This was not a lie. The hours you spent wet and waiting for him had turned the cotton of your underwear damp, drenched through with the thought of him. Pressing your head back against the pillows, you can feel him as you did this morning, tongue tracing your folds with care before thrusting deep, fingers stretching you as he licked and licked at you. Just this, the phantom limb of his mouth, in your cunt and on your clit, is enough to make you whine.

And you haven’t even touched yourself yet.

Synapses begging for pressure, along your skin or your thighs or your mound, you press your tailbone into the mattress and arch slightly off the bed, seeking relief in the form of your underwear moving over your slit.

 **Yeol[4:13 PM]:** youre making me hard. dont be naughty  
 **Yeol[4:13 PM]:** is that my shirt? fuck

‘Fuck,’ apart from your name as he comes, is your favourite word on his lips. The syllables of it, one brief clap of an expletive getting drawn out into three distinct shapes, always makes you clench your thighs together and your teeth chew lightly on the side of your cheek. Would he he have whispered this in the boardroom, while executives and men making more money than him show off their pretty little expense reports? Would he have moaned the word, silently and in his head, palming himself beneath the table, while someone asks for opinions on market outreach?

You don’t care how he says it there, away from you, not really, because you hear it in your ear the way he’s reserved for you alone. Low and deep, breath from his mouth making you warm, hairs on your arms standing on end as his strong baritone rumbles down into your core and vibrates within your soul.

 **YN sent a Photo  
YN[4:15 PM]:** i keep thinking about your hands on me

As soon as you hit send, you realize this is a lie. You want his hands on you, want them all over you, rough and nowhere close to gentle. You want them holding you down, pinning your wrists above your head while another presses on your throat, restricting your breathing until your vision narrows to only the shape of his face. His hands, flipping you over and palming your ass before he spanks you, red and raw and angry, is a fantasy turned memory that plays in your mind on repeat, even when you, too, are at work and trying to pour your own coffee.

Chanyeol’s hands on you turn you into a wanton thing, a shameless thing, but this is not what you have been thinking about.

 **YN[4:16 PM]:** im sorry i lied

Almost immediately, he replies.

 **Yeol[4:16 PM]:** lied about what baby

This too, you can hear. The pet name spilling from his mouth, soft like feathers, because he knows it makes you feel desired, makes you feel needed. Chanyeol licks at that word, always makes it sound like a gift, something born from his tongue and presented only to you. Like this, it marks you as his, feels more like a tattoo or badge of honour on your chest than something as invisible as a name. Like this, it brings your blood to just beneath the surface of your skin, making you run hot, making you burn for his touch.

Here, now, he uses it to make you tell him everything. Chanyeol wants you open, wants you laid out before him: open mouth, open body, open soul. He wants all of you, wants to touch every piece of you and make sure you are there, free for the taking.

He wants you open, and you have never been one to deny him.

 **YN[4:17 PM]:** im not thinking about your hands on me  
 **Yeol[4:18 PM]:** what are you thinking about  
 **YN[4:18 PM]:** your mouth on me  
 **YN[4:18 PM]:** on my skin and my clit  
 **YN[4:19 PM]:** your hot fucking tongue in my cunt  
 **Yeol[4:20 PM]:** fuck baby you have to stop

A smile pulls at your lips, proud and victorious. His small request for you to stop is weak, a platitude at best just because he’s in an office and needs to make it look like he tried. If someone were to see Chanyeol’s phone, the blame is not on him, because he told you not to continue. If someone were to see Chanyeol’s phone, they’d simply see him as someone to envy, and they’d laugh and tell him he’s in for a good night. He tells you to stop because propriety dictates him to. He tells you to stop only because he feels like he should.

But no one is telling him he has to look at his phone. No one is telling him he should look, and this is how you know he wants you too. It isn’t that he’s hard and hungry for you, though this of course helps. It isn’t that he’s urging you on and calling you baby like he’s kissing the word into your mouth. It’s because he loves every second of knowing he is yours and you are his. He loves knowing he possesses you completely, and looking at his phone means he gets to feel some kind of control. Looking at his phone, like this, is a thrill that comes from knowing you are his, even when he is not there to have you, and nothing will ever change the way your body bends to his law.

He tells you to stop, but he does not want you to. And so you change positions and send him another picture.

This time, your hands are beneath your underwear. This time, you are spreading yourself for him, the cool feeling of your wetness meeting the air sending a shiver down your spine, juices making your fingers slick to the touch. You want him to see you like this, spread open and ready to take him. You want him to see where he could be, where he should be.

 **YN sent a Photo  
YN[4:22 PM]:** i cant stop  
 **YN[4:22 PM]:** my fingers feel nothing like your cock  
 **YN[4:23 PM]:** i want you inside me  
 **YN[4:24 PM]:** stretching me

Nothing ever really fit you as well as Chanyeol’s fingers, tongue, or cock. In every instance, he makes you feel full, swollen with something more than just him or your desire. In every instance, he fills you with all your missing pieces, the ones you search for when he departs and the ones you’d been searching for until you found him. Inside you, he changes you, makes you into something better, something that feels almost complete simply because he is there, pressing and pawing at you. Sex with him is a wild, ravenous, affair, but always there is passion, always there is connection. Always, you come together, cosmic, atomic, and wholly interstellar.

Even if the sex left you bleeding and broken, all that would spill out and over from you would be love - the love you make together - warm, and beautiful, and bound.

Thinking about him inside you, while your fingers stretch your folds to make room for him even when he is not there, makes you moan. It’s easy to picture him, velvet and thick and hot, buried within you to the hilt, lips parted in awe above you. From the very beginning, entering you always made him still - not so you could adjust to his size or to the pain, but so he could adjust to the feeling of you, to the feeling of being sheathed inside you, where he always belonged.

His texts, however, come like rapid fire.

 **Yeol[4:26 PM]:** dont be naughty unless you want to be punished  
 **Yeol[4:27 PM]:** only bad girls who deserve a spanking play like this  
 **Yeol[4:28 PM]:** i didnt think you were so bad  
 **Yeol[4:29 PM]:** making me so fucking hard when i cant touch you

You can practically feel it, the way he grips his phone when he gets tense like this, tight, and hard, and offended as though he means to break it. You can practically feel it, the way he adjusts in the chair, hard and digging his tailbone into the seat, aching for relief yet unable to have any.

Pressing your fingers inside yourself, you sigh, and wonder how many times he’s shifted his posture. It’s nearly half four, and if he’s lucky, he’ll have to stand and depart this meeting. He’ll have to stand and show off how beautifully well you control him, how your body, and your wet cunt, is the only thing that commands the flow of his blood.

Knowing him, he’s thirsty, mouth dry and lips red. He’d reach for water, think maybe the smooth cascade of it down his throat would distract him, pull him out of this haze and let him concentrate. It wouldn’t, though. It never does. Always, that first sip makes him sweat, makes him cock his head back and squeeze his eyes shut. When you’re with him, when you’re close to him, it’s then that you lick his throat, taste the salt of his skin and whimper at the flavor.

He tastes good, like that. He tastes like yours.

This thought helps you set a steady rhythm with your hand, fingers thrusting slowly, languidly, picturing they are his and they are longer than they truly are. Getting deep, getting rough, and hitting places you didn’t even know could be grazed by two fingertips - or, perhaps, three. When he’s inside you like this, he hovers over you, watching you with amorous concern at your changing expression as he moves inside you. Never does this make you feel vulnerable, rather it makes you feel admired, makes you feel like art. For Chanyeol, your pleasure is a museum, something he moves through as he moves in you, touching, stroking, and petting.

Each sigh is a masterpiece, each whine is an artifact, something found and carried and cherished throughout time.

Fingers bunching into the sheets beside you, you turn with hot cheeks to look at your phone as it buzzes once more.

 **Yeol[4:32 PM]:** i’m coming home

At this, you laugh, even pull your hands away from yourself with a small, dissatisfied scowl. It’s uncomfortable, to be spread like this and with nothing and no one to fill you. It’s only for a moment, you tell yourself.

Only until Chanyeol can get home.

 **YN[4:32 PM]:** you still have 90 minutes left  
 **Yeol[4:33 PM]:** dont care. rather be inside you  
 **Yeol[4:35 PM]:** i have to walk with my briefcase over my dick  
 **YN[4:36 PM]:** yeollie im so wet for you my fingers are dripping

Lifting your phone above your face, you swipe to open your camera and take a video. Briefly, you show the camera your fingers, let the light hit them in just the right ways to make them glisten, before sliding them both into your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks, you suck hard and fill the room with a moan as you close your eyes, opening them when your fingers have been pulled from your mouth and shine only with your spit.

 **YN sent a Video  
YN[4:38 PM]:** they taste sweet like you  
 **YN[4: 39 PM]:** but i wish they tasted like your come

For a while, he does not reply. For a while, you think you might have broken him or exposed him, the sounds from the video debauched and torrid, and you can’t be sure how loud he had his volume. Was he surrounded by people in the elevator? Did the security guard hear how badly you want him, how high you get just thinking about his come on your face? It doesn’t matter, though. On this, you do not dwell.

Instead, you focus your thoughts on the image of his mouth and his ears if he had been discovered. His ears, you think, are your favourite part of him, possibly more so than his hands or his cock. Enormous and almost comical, they make him beautiful and they make him human. When embarrassed or shy, they flush, turn red at the tips, the heat starting there before moving to his cheeks and then to his lips, the best part. When those too are plump and swollen with bashful intent, he pouts, and you want to kiss the expression off him, want to suck at his skin until all he has are bite marks made by your eager teeth.

These thoughts send your hand back to your slit, teasing and sliding against all the wetness that seeps from your core, as if collecting. You luxuriate in the sensation of these soft touches, toes curling into the sheets and hips pressing forward, only slightly, in anticipation of more.

There’s a twitch in your thumb, one fueled by your neglected clit, that threatens to break you, threatens to move you to the main event without Chanyeol here to hear or see you. You almost give in, almost let this desire win, when your phone starts to ring.

‘Baby.’

When you speak, your voice is taut, breathy, constricted by desire for him. You don’t mean for it to sound this way, but you cannot help it. All you want right now is all of him, inside and around you.

‘Put me on speaker,’ he demands, his own voice sounding tight and constrained. ‘You’ll need both fucking hands.’

You hiss at this, putting the phone on speaker and resting it on the pillow next to your head. Biting your lips, you keep teasing your folds while your other hand strokes the flesh of your waist, relishing how soft it is.

‘Am I on speaker, too?’ you ask, teasingly quiet and feigning innocence.

Chanyeol’s voice breaks out over feedback hum and background road noise. ‘I’ve got one hand on my dick and one hand on the wheel,’ he says, clearly trying to keep himself composed. Momentarily, you wish you could hear his hand moving over his cock. ‘Now listen to me. Are you going to be a good girl?’

‘Yes,’ you sigh with a small whine.

‘Are you going to do as I say?’ You can hear his smile in the way he phrases the word, all wolfish and possessively yours. Different now, more controlled than when he answered the phone, and so wonderfully ready to play.

‘Yes.’

‘God,’ he chuckles, lowly, ‘you’re such a good slut for me.’

Nodding at nothing and no one, you moan as you wet your lips. ‘Only you, Yeol.’

‘Are you touching yourself?’ he asks, and you can imagine it, the way he keeps his eyes locked on the road as one hand white knuckles the wheel. His other hand, his strong, right hand, is pumping his cock in firm, purposeful strokes. You love him when he looks like this, eager to come and eager to have you.

Your hips lift off the bed slightly as you tease yourself, as is beckoning this image to come to life before you.

‘Yes,’ you murmur, voice higher than usual.

‘How many fingers do you have inside you?’

‘Two.’

There’s something hypnotizing about the way his deep voice fills the room, and part of you wishes you could go get your headphones, to surround yourself with him and his voice only. Being awash with Chanyeol is the only time you truly think you have a heartbeat, and here, now, you hear it thudding in your chest as you wait for his next order.

‘Add a third,’ he commands, tongue biting at the words with veneration. ‘I know you can take three of yours. You always take three of mine.’

Obeying his command, you slip a third finger along your folds, teasing your entrance and gently thrusting in without getting too deep. Your other hand scratches gently at your inner thigh, letting the sensation of light pain and full pleasure overtake your body in a tremble of need. The addition makes your palm glide slightly over your swollen clit, you moan at the contact.

‘Chanyeol.’

A low groan resonates through the phone, and you smile knowing it was your voice that pulled this sound from him. Chanyeol is like this only for you. Chanyeol lets himself fall apart only for you.

‘Fuck,’ he exclaims, ‘I love it when you moan for me like that.’

For now, you’ve been lenient and compliant, bending to his will without question because you wanted him, wanted his dominion over you. For a while, you’ve been forthcoming, but you need him now to help you. Need to know how he looks to bring yourself closer to the edge.

‘Are you touching yourself?’ you breathe, turning your voice into something low and seductive, adopting the rasp you know he loves to hear.

Instantly, you get a rise out of him. His low exhale, deep and blossoming into a laugh, fills the room and sends fireworks along your skin.

‘I’m stroking my dick, baby,’ he says, sounding proud, of either you or himself, though, you cannot be sure. ‘I wish you were here to sit on it.’

The word sit feels like a thunderclap to your clit, the sharp, pointed annunciation of his t and the sensual way he clings to the s making you bite your lip and dig your nails into the juncture of your hip.

‘Fuck, Chanyeol,’ you grind out, ‘I want that so bad.’

And you do. It’s so easy, like this, to picture him beneath you, just like this morning. Both knees on either side of his hips, while he looked up at you, slack jawed and in awe of your body. At the first touch of his fingers on your wetness, you bent over, collapsed against his chest, while he stroked and stroked and stroked to prepare you for him and claimed your mouth with a kiss. You sat on him then, stretching yourself with his dick and letting your chest puff with devotion and lust. He took the tendon of your neck between his teeth, and now you bring your free hand to the mark, caressing it lovingly, pretending your fingers are his.

This image makes your walls clench around your fingers, makes a sigh slip past your lips, and makes your thighs start to ache.

‘I wish you were here to suck it.’

Chanyeol’s voice breaks through your fantasy, and the harshness of it makes your fingers curl inside you, stroking and seeking the spot that makes your pulse stutter in its rhythm. Thrusting your fingers hard inside you, imagining you are keeping pace with Chanyeol’s fist as he pumps himself, helps you find it with ease. And only when you tap it, when you moan into the sensation of your whole body shaking and your walls clenching, do you speak.

‘I’d take it, Yeol,’ you cry out. ‘I love it when you fuck my throat and make me gag on your cock.’

There were few things you wanted more at this moment than his dick in your mouth or stuffed into your wet pussy. You love the way he makes your jaw ache with the size, tight and full and struggling to keep your breath even. You love the way he fucks it into you, gentle at first before making a mess of you, turning you into his plaything, before coming down your throat and kissing you clean.

Saying the words, however, sends Chanyeol into a fury,.His moan erupts around you, makes you think he’s teasing the head of his hard cock with strong fingers, fingers that know how to mold you into their favourite shape, a shape made only to fit him. For a moment, he sounds boyish in his desire, uncontrolled and almost fragile, as if you are tearing happily away at all his seams.

‘You always look so pretty with your lips stuffed full of my dick,’ he bites out, and you can hear him slap the wheel with his free hand. Likely, he’s pressing his head back into the seat rest, grinding his hips into the cushion below, aching for some relief until he can bury himself inside you. Likely, the veins in his arm and rising from his skin, straining with tension as he works himself over to the thought of your naked, waiting body.

‘Your cock is so big,’ you say, pressing your fingers deep before pulling them out and teasing yourself with slow, gentle touches, trying to imagine they are the head of his thick cock. ‘I always struggle to take it. You make my jaw ache.’

‘Fuck, baby,’ he whines. ‘Keep talking.’

‘I’m so wet thinking about sucking you dry,’ you continue, stroking eagerly at your folds before pressing your three fingers back in. Your other hand slides beneath his shirt, stroking at one of your nipples before kneading your breast in your small hand. ‘How you look when you come on my tongue and grip my hair when you fuck my mouth.’

‘I want to eat you out so badly, right now,’ he rasps, and now you can finally hear the movement in his arm as he strokes himself with vigor. ‘Your wet cunt is the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. You’re always so tight, even just around my tongue and fingers.’

‘Nothing feels as good as your cock, though,’ you keen, squeezing your eyes tightly shut and picturing his dick once more, sliding in and out of your body as his hands hold your hips to keep you from careening off the bed. Your free hand moves fro myour breast and you rake your nails over the fabric of the sheets, pretending they are his shoulders.

‘Nothing ever will.’ In this he is firm and possessive, growling the words out in a slight fury at the thought of anyone else touching you, glad that only he gets to see you like this, that only his touch turns you into a messy, needy, pliant thing. ‘Your little cunt always stretches for me, takes me so well.’

The picture of his dick stretching you, sliding in and out of you, almost sends your thumb to your clit in desperation of seeking your orgasm. You feel he has to be close, his drive between the office and your home relatively short, and you want to know what you’re in for.

You want to know what kind of mess he’s going to make of you.

‘How are you going to fuck me tonight?’

‘Shit.’

This makes your eyes open, hands stilling as you cock your eyebrow. The word falls from his mouth with disappointment and frustration, much unlike the way he normally discusses fucking himself into you.

‘What is it?’ you ask, trying not to chuckle or ruin the mood.

‘I’m stuck in traffic.’

An impish smile spreads across your features. Dick out and trying to get home to you, ready and waiting on your bed, his bed, any delay is going to turn him into an awful, impatient thing, and you know he’s too far gone right now to care if anyone can see into his car.

‘Yeol, I can’t wait. I need you.’

It’s cruel, you know, to say it, but it isn’t really a lie. You can’t wait, you’ve been aching since before you texted him, aching since he left this morning without and left you to have one day off without him. You can’t really wait, not now, not when three fingers are moving within you and your palm keeps brushing your clit. For several minutes you’ve been panting, and the very concept of finally being able to come sends a moan out of your mouth that sounds almost violent in its need.

‘Wait for me, baby,’ he commands, just as you thought he would, in a desperate pant. ‘Don’t come until I can feel it.’

Something in you snaps at this, the thought of delaying your orgasm just so he could have it, take it, or swallow it whole. Instantly, images spring to your mind. His face, positioned between your spread legs and his tongue, lapping at you and your juices with a force that feels like liquid fire. His cock, buried deep inside you and his mouth on you collarbone as he fucks into you with strong, powerful snaps of his hips. His fingers, clutching the backs of your knees as he keeps your legs wrapped around his waist. And his mouth, biting gently on your bottom lip as his tongue fucks your mouth in time with his cock in your pussy.

‘Yeol,’ you whine, thumb finally rubbing circles on your clit as your finger yourself.

‘You’re close aren’t you?’ he gasps, and you picture him relaxing into his seat now, hand spreading precome all over his cock. ‘I can hear it, that pretty little whine that you do.’

He’s right. Your walls are already starting to clench around your fingers, and the tension is already starting to build in your thighs. With each thrust, it becomes harder and harder to pull your fingers out and move back in, wet and slick and making a noise that sounds like a symphony in your room.

Picturing Chanyeol, dick in hand and chest red with wanting, makes your breath hitch, your back arching and lifting your breasts as though his mouth would be above them waiting to suck them.

‘Yeol, how would you fuck me, I need to know.’ You hate that you sound so needy, so weak in your need for him, but at this point you don’t have it in you to truly care. All of your body wants to know how he would shape it, how he would take it. Hours have passed since you last felt his skin on yours, and you need to hear him say how he would take you so you can prepare yourself for when he gets home.

‘I want you on all fours, legs spread wide,’ he says, voice tight and words clipped. ‘Face pressed down into the pillows and ass up in the air for me, ah fuck.’

A low, deep moan pours out of him, and the sound invigorates your fingers, makes you fuck into yourself with a speed you normally don’t use on your own body. But Chanyeol lights that fire in you, and you’ve never been so eager to come.

‘I’d spank you for all the shit you put me through in my meeting,’ he continues, and you can hear him speeding up as he imagines this, too. ‘I’d watch your pretty skin get red with my hand print. Rub you back into something soft, baby, make you feel good and make your knees shake with how badly you want me inside you.’

‘Oh, God, Chanyeol,’ you cry, pleasure starting to build in your thighs. Sweat has started to bead at your hairline, and your chest feels intensely hot. He’s loving you into an inferno, and he’s not even there to feel it.

‘Fuck, baby, just thinking about it,’ he grunts into the car, words come out of his mouth now quickly as he too brings himself to the precipice of his climax. ‘I’d stuff my dick into your tight pussy so hard and fast you’d scream. I want you to scream, make sure everyone knows your cunt is mine. I’m the only one who gets to fuck you like this, raw and hard and until you’re begging me to come.’

You want to speak, you really do, but you can’t. All you can manage is a deep pant of breath, words failing you as you picture the sting on your ass cheeks from his hand, his cock in your cunt, pounding into you with such force you think the bed might break. All you can manage is a soft whine as the sound of your fingers, wet and sticky with your juices as they thrust into you, fills the room, harmonious in its sentiment.

‘I wouldn’t touch your clit,’ he says, lowly and with a hiss, ‘not for a while. Not until you are absolutely begging me, thinking you might cry if I don’t touch it. I want to hear you plead for it.’

Bringing this to life, you take your thumb off your clit but continue the hard pace of your fingers as you fuck yourself. Already so close to the edge, your body protests this sensation, and the throb in your clit becomes almost unbearable as you linger close to but just out of reach of an orgasm you know will be intense.

‘Please, Yeol,’ you whisper, unable to feel ashamed of how desperate you are. ‘Please.’

‘Just like that baby. Fuck, fuck.’ He sounds just as desperate as you, small, somehow, in his need and utterly, absolutely vulnerable. One word from you, right now, could push him over. And it is this, only this, that helps you regain some control.

‘Chanyeol, are you close? I’m so close.’

Noise on the other end makes you think he’s nodding, perhaps to himself, perhaps assuming you would understand the action. You hear him swallow hard, and this nearly makes you chuckle, but when he speaks, the fracture in his voice makes you want to take him in your arms, and ride him. He’s broken, nearly at his end, and this is when you love him most.

When he’s close, he looks a little lost, like he’s gone into himself and find euphoria but only when he looks at you does he find it. His eyes always soften when he looks at you, just before he comes. He looks at you and sees all of you, sees every piece of you and loves it into gold. And when he’s like this, when he speaks, he sounds so fragile and so beautiful it almost makes your heart break.

‘Fuck, I’m so close.’

‘I want you so deep inside me it hurts, Yeol,’ you plead, pushing you both towards your end. ‘I want to take you so deep and I want you to bruise me. I want you to be rough with me baby, I want to hear your marks for weeks. I want everyone who looks at me to know you fucked me right.’

‘Baby, I have to come,’ he cries, voice pitching up into an unusual tenor. This is the sign you know he’s close. In a few strokes, he will be making a mess of himself and he will not have it in him to mind. ‘I’m so fucking hard I’m starting to hurt.’

For you, the feeling is the same. Your ignored clit is starting to send your fingers into a frenzy, your motions erratic and your hips grinding into the bed for any and all relief, as if they are seeking Chanyeol himself.

‘Chanyeol, please let me come,’ you beg in a whisper, unable to focus on anything but the pleasure starting to ripple in your thighs.

‘You’re so close, aren’t you baby?’ he says, gentle and soft all of a sudden, and you know he’s slowed his strokes for you. Always, he ensures you come first, and, in this way, he wants to make sure this pleasure is yours.

‘Yes, please, Chanyeol,’ you nearly cry, voice deep as you feel your body start to tremble from the tension in your muscles. ‘I want to come so badly.’

‘Come for me, baby, let me hear you,’ he coaxes, evenly. He brings his voice down to a low whisper, and the sound from the phone, so close to your ear, for one moment convinces you that he is with you. ‘Fill this fucking car with how good I make you feel.’

You come with a shuddering cry, toes curling into the sheets as your hips lift slightly off the bed. Your walls clench tightly around your fingers, convulsing in pleasure and relief, a tidal wave of wanting that milks the joints of your fingers. Every muscle in your body tightens rapidly, winding you tight and making your voice break, as your back arches and your chest heaves. The crack in your voice brings you to release a sigh as your body relaxes all at once, leaving you feeling heavy and euphoric.

For several minutes, you remain still on the bed, fingers still inside you as you quiver through the shocks of your orgasm, and it takes you a while before you can hear Chanyeol happily chuckling to himself. You bet he turned the volume in the car all the way up. You bet he bathed himself in your orgasm so intensely the sound has etched itself into his bones.

‘Keep talking, sweetheart,’ he whispers, sounding slightly out of breath.

And, with a blissful smile on your face, you comply.

‘I wish you were inside me, Chanyeol,’ you mutter, picturing his dick going soft inside you as he comes and quakes against you. ‘I wish you were still fucking me. I know you’d make me come again.’

‘Say my name again, baby,’ he grunts, picking up the pace of his strokes once more.

‘Chanyeol,’ you moan, purposefully and with your fingers starting to move inside you again, sending shivers down your spine.

‘Again,’ he moans, and this time you can hear the force of his strokes distantly in the background.

‘Chanyeol,’ you repeat, still moving your fingers and relishing the sensation of how very wet your fingers are. They slide easily in and out of you, soaked and dripping.

‘Fuck, fuck.’

Chanyeol comes with a loud moan, one that sounds like it’s being torn from his soul. You’ve heard this kind before, and it’s one of your favourites. It’s musical in its cadence, almost transcendent in its nature. In many ways, it almost doesn’t sound like him, sounds like someone made purely of lust and raw devotion. You think this is the sound of how he loves you, pure, unadulterated, and visceral.

In the aftermath of his orgasm, he laughs. Happy, jovial, and not in the least bit ashamed. The sound is so pure, so beautiful, you can’t help but join in, too.

‘Did you come, baby?’ you manage through your giggle.

‘All over my fucking pants,’ he exclaims, sounding pleased and proud. ‘You made such a mess, you better lick it up when I get home.’

‘I’ll be waiting.’

You were. You waited patiently on your knees for him until the door slid open.


End file.
